


Bandaids on Bullet Holes

by 1VulgarWoman



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe — Human, Cop!Vegeta, F/M, Porn With Plot, Smut and Angst, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1VulgarWoman/pseuds/1VulgarWoman
Summary: In which Bulma runs a stop sign, and things get...complicated.A steamy, angsty Cop!Vegeta AU.





	1. Hands where I can see ‘em.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out my new story! 
> 
> In case the rating and tags weren’t enough, I do want to mention that this story contains explicit sexual content and adult language and is not suitable for readers under 18.

Bulma sighed as she saw a long line of break lights stretching out ahead. The jarring wail of sirens blared behind her, and an ambulance and three police cars zoomed past. 

Perfect. Just perfect. Some idiot had decided today was a good day to forget how to drive. After a hellish day at the office, Bulma was beyond ready to be home. No way in hell was she going to sit in that traffic. 

She made a split-second decision to turn onto a side road and see if she could go up a few blocks and skirt around the congestion. It would have been a good plan if this part of the city was laid out in perfect blocks, but the city planners hand’t been so kind. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bulma cursed under her breath. She had a vague idea of where she was but no clue how to get home from there. 

Realizing her only option was to use GPS, she reached down to fumble around for her phone in the dark abyss that was her purse. 

A few sharp siren pulses made her blood freeze in her veins. When she looked up again, she was met with the unwelcome sight of flashing lights in her rear-view mirror. 

“Shit,” she cursed again, beating her palm against the steering wheel. This was absolutely not her day. 

Seeing what looked like an abandoned gas station on her right, she pulled over, reaching into the console for her registration and insurance papers. As she was bending over to search for her wallet, a deep, gravely voice made her pause. 

“Out of the car. Hands where I can see ‘em.”

Her fingers unclenched from the leather pocketbook, dropping it back into her purse. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she grumbled under her breath as she took her time unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. 

Bulma took a steadying breath as she studied the glaring officer in her side-view mirror. The deep blue fabric of his uniform shirt was stretched taut across a well-built chest and shoulders. He looked pissed, but he was undeniably handsome standing there with his thick arms crossed, waiting for her. 

Sighing, she pulled the handle and slid out of her SUV, adjusting her pencil skirt that had ridden up around her thighs. 

Narrowed onyx eyes tracked the movement, and his scowl deepened. 

The spicy scent of aftershave and man floated to her on the breeze, muddling her senses. 

“What’s this all about?” Bulma grumbled, reaching back into the doorway to toss her paperwork onto the seat. 

“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM.”

Her hands shot up like he was controlling them with invisible strings. “Okay. All right, just…What gives?”

He cocked his head to the side, condescending.

“Ma’am, are you aware that you ran a stop sign back there?”

Bulma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “No.”

“No, what?”

Bulma stuttered. She could feel her face burning red. “No, I didn’t realize I ran a stop sign?”

“No, _officer_ ,” he sneered. “How about a little goddam respect.”

“Seriously?!” Bulma huffed. 

“Seriously…?” His scowl turned into a taunting grin.

Her eyes rolled so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “ _Officer_. Seriously, _officer_. Now, do you need to see my insurance papers or not? I’d really like to get out of here.”

She moved to reach for her paperwork again, but he stopped her, one hand hovering over his nightstick.

“FREEZE. Hands behind your head.”

Bulma flinched at his harsh tone, trying to ignore the growing wetness in her panties. Something was seriously wrong with her. 

“Well, which is it?” she grumbled. “Freeze, or put my hands behind my head?” 

“That’s it,” he growled. 

Before Bulma could even react, a heated wall of muscle had her trapped against the side of her car. Her hands were wrenched behind her back, and she felt the cool metal of handcuffs constrict around her wrists. 

She should have been afraid. She should have been terrified, but as his hands swept down the sides of her body, her heart beat faster for a different reason. 

“Look,” she squeaked out between heavy breaths, “I know violence against police is on the rise, or whatever, but seriously, how paranoid can you be?”

The length of his body pressed against hers as he leaned closer, his hot breath on her ear. “I’ve about had it with your disrespect, woman.”

Bulma groaned, clenching her thighs together as she soaked in the warm, rough sound of his voice. His body felt so good caging her in against the cold metal door, and, god, he smelled amazing. It was everything she’d been missing for the past…too many months. This was sweet torture. 

Without meaning to, she canted her hips back, her body seeking what it craved most. And, _fuck_ , he was actually hard. He groaned when her backside brushed against the swelling tent in his pants, but he didn’t move away. 

“Well,” Bulma breathed, throwing him a challenging look over her shoulder. “What are you going to do about it, tough guy?”

His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and he growled — actually growled — against the side of her neck. 

Rough hands wrapped around her arms, and he dragged her away from the side of the car, steering her towards his cruiser. He opened the back door, covering her head to help her get in. 

Bulma crawled in and knelt on the seat. For a tense moment, she worried that he might actually be arresting her, but then she felt his warm body press against hers as he pulled the door shut behind them. This was happening. 

His arms wound around her waist as his lips found the skin of her neck, bare from her recent pixie cut. She sighed. 

“Do you want this?” He nipped at her earlobe. 

Bulma nodded, anticipation making her heart pound against her ribs. Realizing her cuffed hands were at the perfect hight, she explored blindly until she found what she wanted, wrapping her fingers around his thick cock over his uniform pants. 

“Fuck,” he groaned against her shoulder. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” Bulma gasped out, reveling in the way his moans became increasingly desperate as she stroked him. “Yes, fuck me.”

“Yes, fuck me, _what_?”

Turned on as she was, Bulma still found herself rolling her eyes. 

“ _Officer._ Fuck me, _officer_.”

__

__

His warm chuckle sent chills racing down her spine to pool between her shaking thighs. 

“About time you learned some respect.”

She gasped as he roughly fisted what he could of her short hair, yanking her head back enough for him to slant his mouth over hers. Bulma responded hungrily, nipping at his upper lip. It was fuller than the lower one. She didn’t know why that turned her on so much. 

Rough hands wrenched her away from his mouth, and she let out a surprised squeak as she found herself face-down, ass up, on the bench seat. 

Big, warm hands moved over her curves, reaching around to fondle her clothed breasts before sliding up her waist to grasp her hips. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. A sharp contrast to the strength with which he pinned her there, helpless and aching for him. 

“We’ll have to be quick.” His voice sounded strained as he rucked her skirt up around her waist, exposing the soaked fabric of her underwear. 

Bulma keened as his fingers brushed her throbbing center. 

He pulled her panties to the side and slid his fingertips through her folds, testing her. “Holy fuck. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Bulma groaned at the loss of his hands on her. Turning her head as far as she could without the use of her arms, she looked back to see him fumbling with his gun belt. 

He pulled it off, and it clattered onto the floor. His eyes darted around, trying to peer through the fogged windows to make sure they were still alone. Satisfied, he reached for the button of his fly. 

Bulma’s eyes slipped closed as she felt the hot tip of him drag slowly along her wet folds. She could see one of his hands now, bracing his weight against the armrest as he leaned over her. He started to push inside, and she did her best to rock back against him. When he was buried to the hilt, she could have sobbed with joy, he felt so good. There were no words for how desperately she’d missed this. 

Mindful of their public location, he set a punishing pace. The wet slap of their bodies and their mingled cries of pleasure were loud inside the confined space. 

Bulma purred with satisfaction as his hand moved down between her thighs to circle her clit, exactly the way she liked it. She felt the heat of his broad chest even through both their shirts and regretted that they hadn’t undressed, craving the warm slide of his skin against hers. 

Her toes curled inside her stilettos as heat started to pool and swell where he was hitting so deep inside her. God, she needed this. 

“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whine as she felt herself tightening around him. “Oh, god. Vegeta, I’m coming!”

The rough stubble on his cheek rasped against her neck as he buried his face there, sobbing his own release into her sweat-slick skin. “Fuck, Bulma.”

The warmth of his spend flooded her, wringing out the last delicious aftershocks of her orgasm. 

She should be furious that he hadn’t pulled out. She should be furious about everything that had just happened. But mostly, she was angry at him for making her miss him so much, for being so goddamn unforgettable. 

He cursed under his breath as he realized his mistake. She didn’t know why he seemed surprised. They had never been able to keep their heads around one another. 

“I’ll bring you a Plan B when I pick up Trunks in the morning.” 

Bulma nodded, suppressing a whimper as he pulled away, tucking himself back into his pants. Without another word, he retrieved the handcuff key from his belt and released her hands. She quickly tugged her skirt back down into place and sat next to him, watching as he righted his uniform and strapped on his belt. 

Without so much as a glance in her direction, he pulled a handful of wadded up fast-food napkins out of the console and handed them to her. 

“Thanks,” Bulma muttered to his back as he slid out of the car, leaving her to dab at the mess he had left between her thighs in privacy. 

Fisting the soiled napkins in her hand, she let herself out of the cruiser and made her way, on shaky legs, to the open door of her own vehicle. 

She could feel his eyes on her but kept hers facing ahead. Her vision was starting to cloud over. There was no way in hell she was going to let him see her fall apart. 

Her tires squealed against the blacktop as she sped away from the scene of her mistake, making it several blocks before looking for a place to pull over. As soon as the gearshift snapped into ‘park,’ she rested her forehead against the steering wheel and released the flood of emotions raging inside her. 

She sobbed against the cool leather, fighting the urge to go back, to try to find him again. Her arms felt so empty without him there to hold. Had since she had come home one evening to find him gone, nearly eight months ago now. 

Once the initial wave of emotion ebbed, she flipped open her visor and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and half her face was red from being pressed against the back seat. 

She reached into her purse and dug around until she found her makeup bag. Her mother was at the house with Trunks. She needed to at least try to make herself look like she hadn’t fucked her ex-husband in the back of his police cruiser. 

_Oh, god_ , she thought as the weight of what she’d done settled over her. How had it ever come to this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone see the twist coming? 😁 
> 
> I’ve wanted to write exes smut and cop Veggie smut for a while, and, like everything I write, the porn inspired the plot. Why am I like this? 🙈 We’ll find out what went wrong between these two hotties and if they can find a way back together again in upcoming chapters. (Don’t worry, nobody cheated. And, yes, there will be more smut. 😏)


	2. I still don’t dance

_Four-and-a-half years ago…_

“Chichi, slow down,” Bulma laughingly chided above the blaring music. “Wasn’t that your fifth shot already?”

The dark-haired woman motioned to the bartender, and two more lemon drops appeared in front of them. 

“It’s my first night out since Gohan was born. I have to take advantage.” Chichi tossed back her drink, then motioned to the bartender again. 

“I think we’ll just have water this time,” Bulma cut in before taking her own shot, only her second of the night. “Pace yourself, Chi. You want to actually remember your one night out, right?” 

Chichi begrudgingly sipped her water, checking her phone for messages while Bulma scanned the crowded room. She was still reeling from a nasty breakup and hoped tonight she could find someone to serve as a pallet cleanser before she put herself out there again.

If she was being honest, Bulma had her own motives for making sure Chichi paced herself. Since the baby was born, she had only seen her best friend on the few occasions when she volunteered to play with Gohan for a couple hours so Chi could have some time to herself. They would sit and talk for a few minutes, usually about the baby, before the exhausted mother would disappear into the bathroom for an overdue shower. Considering her other best friend was the baby’s father and a dedicated police officer, her options for socialization had become depressingly limited. 

Chichi let out an excited squeak, jolting Bulma out of her sad thoughts. 

“Goku just texted! His shift is over, and he’s coming to join us.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “You invited your husband to girls’ night? That is so you.”

Chichi shrugged. “Hey, it’s our first night without the baby in almost two years. Mama needs some daddy time, if you know what I mean.”

Bulma laughed. She couldn’t fault Chichi for wanting some quality time with her man. Besides, Goku had been one of her best friends since before Chichi transferred to their high school. She was always happy to see him.

“Oh, crapcicles! He’s bringing his partner.” 

Bulma turned to her scowling friend, intrigued. “His partner, huh? Is he cute?”

Chichi shrugged. “He might be if he wasn’t such a sourpuss all the time. The guy’s a total jerk. I don’t know why Goku likes him so much.”

“Is he single?”

“I just told you the guy was a jerk, and you’re asking about his relationship status?” Chichi scoffed.

Bulma shrugged. “Hey, one woman’s jerk is another woman’s bad boy kink.”

“Are bad boys really a kink or just a poor life choice?” 

Bulma winked as she sucked down the last of her water. “Oh, trust me, it’s a kink.”

Chichi looked like she was gearing up for a lecture, but Bulma was saved by a pair of burly arms snaking around her friend’s waist. 

She couldn’t help but smile at her best friends as they greeted one another with an enthusiastic kiss. Warmth blossomed around the empty ache in her chest. She hoped that, one day, she would find someone who would adore her the way Goku adored Chichi; someone whose eyes wouldn’t wander the minute her back was turned. 

“Ugh. Get a room.” 

The deep, gravely voice captured Bulma’s interest, drawing her eyes away from the tender scene. She was met with a compact wall of muscle in a navy t-shirt, scowling into the crowd with what she almost thought might be a faint blush painting his high cheekbones. 

This had to be the jerk, she figured. She was pleased to see that, yes, he was cute, even with the sourpuss. 

“First night without the kid in two years. I’m afraid we’ve lost ‘em,” Bulma yelled above the thrum of the base. 

His head snapped towards her, dark eyes assessing her from head to toe. 

Bulma sat up a little taller on her barstool, giving him a lopsided grin. She was dressed to the nines, and she knew she looked goddam amazing. Let him look.

“I’m Bulma, by the way.” She stuck her hand out. He eyed it for a moment before enveloping it in his big, rough one.

“Vegeta.”

She leaned in closer. So they could hear each other better, of course. 

“What’s your poison, Vegeta?”

~ 0 ~

An hour later, they had managed to snag a high-top with a view of the dance floor, but it wasn’t the mass of gyrating bodies that held Goku and Chichi’s attention. 

Bulma and Vegeta were turned towards one another on their side of the table, yelling about condiments, of all things. 

“Woman, if you wanted gravy with your cheese fries, you should have told me before I ordered the food.”

“I shouldn’t have had to tell you that, you jerk! Everyone likes gravy with their cheese fries.”

“Not everyone,” Vegeta shot back. “I prefer ranch. If you want gravy, get it yourself.”

“Hey, uh…” Goku cut in with an awkward chuckle. “Are you two sure this is the first time you’ve met?”

“Yes,” Vegeta and Bulma answered simultaneously. 

“Really?” Chichi arched one dark brow. “Because you argue like an old married couple.” 

Vegeta stuttered, then shoved a cheese fry (with ranch) into his mouth. He was actually pretty adorable, Bulma thought, in a Grumpy Cat sort of way. 

Lifting her glass to her lips, she downed the rest of her cocktail in one go before sliding off her stool. 

“Come on, you. Dance with me.” She cocked her head in the direction of the dance floor, but her companion remained unmoved. 

“I don’t dance,” he growled. 

Bulma shrugged her bare shoulders before turning to sashay towards the dance floor. His refusal wasn’t wholly unexpected, and she was just buzzed enough to put on a good show. He might not dance, but there was no way he could resist watching. 

She let herself get lost in the music, swaying her hips to the pounding beat. It didn’t take long for her to attract attention. 

“What’s a sweet thing like you dancing alone for?”

A pair of warm hands bracketed her hips, and she glanced over her shoulder at her surprise dance partner. He was cute enough, in a preppy, Roman numeral at the end of his name kind of way. Not her type, but good enough for one dance. 

“I’m not alone anymore, am I?” She winked over her shoulder, swaying with him but keeping a solid few inches of space between their bodies. 

She didn’t see Vegeta approach until he yanked her away from her shocked partner. 

“Get lost, creep,” he barked at the gaping frat boy, who had a healthy enough sense of self-preservation to listen.

Bulma giggled, thrilled by the attention and the look of fierce determination on Vegeta’s face.

“I still don’t dance,” he rasped against the shell of her ear as he placed himself behind her. Grasping her hips with surprising gentleness, he encouraged her to keep swaying to the music. 

Bulma felt no need to keep a safe distance with this partner. In fact, she couldn’t get close enough. 

His body was rock-hard against her back as he stood there and let her dance on him, hands skimming over her waist and hips. The warm brush of his exhale against her neck was the only indication that this was affecting him at all. He was playing it cool, but Bulma knew. He wanted her. And she wanted him too. 

She snaked one arm behind her to loop around his neck. The other hand found a home on his muscled thigh. 

She looked back over her shoulder to find him watching her with something akin to awe, but also bashfulness. His cheeks were burning, and so were his eyes.They devoured her like she was his last meal. 

There was something about Vegeta that intrigued her. On first glance, he seemed like a jerk, as Chichi had said. Okay, granted he _was_ kind of a jerk, but she could see glimpses of a soft core beneath the hard exterior.

She had a hunch that few people took the time to look beyond the surface and really find out who he was. That kind of loneliness was something she understood all too well. 

Bulma turned to face him, looping both arms around his broad shoulders, and leaned close to whisper in his ear. 

“Hey, let’s get outta here.”

Vegeta nodded, letting her lace her fingers with his and lead him out into the cool night air. 

~ 0 ~

_Present day…_

Bulma took a long drag from her cigarette as she waited for Vegeta to arrive. She was sitting on the front terrace while Trunks played with action figures on the paving stones at her feet. 

Though her heart was about to pound right through her ribs, she fought to remain composed for Trunk’s sake. He had been upset the day he learned Daddy wouldn’t be living with them anymore, and she did everything she could to make the adjustment easier for him, including keeping her own turbulent emotions under wraps. A three-year-old shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of his mother’s pain as well as his own.

She sighed as the gate at the end of the long drive creaked open, and a familiar police cruiser appeared on the other side. Right on time, as usual. 

For all his faults, Bulma had to admit Vegeta was a wonderful father. Oh, there had been some rough months following Trunks’ birth. Vegeta hadn’t bonded well with the baby, and she had begun to suspect he was taking extra shifts to avoid being home. It had been the cause of many a screaming match between them.

Once Trunks became a little more mobile, though, things had gotten better. Vegeta might not be into the warm, mushy stuff, but on his weekends with Trunks, the boy had his undivided attention. Trunks idolized his father, and Bulma was determined not to do anything to discourage that.

Trunks’ face lit up as he caught sight of the cruiser. He dropped his action figures to jump up and down, waving both hands. “Yay! Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here!”

“Yay,” Bulma parroted, hoping she sounded genuine to the child. 

She picked up Trunks’ toys and loaded them into his overnight bag with more care than necessary. Anything to postpone the inevitable by a few precious seconds. 

Pretending to check the contents of Trunks’ bag, she listened as the car came to a stop and the door opened. 

“Daddy, Daddy!”

“Hey, squirt.”

Vegeta’s warm, familiar baritone raised gooseflesh on her arms. She zipped Trunks’ bag and stood. 

There he was, in plain clothes this time, ruffling their son’s lavender hair. Bulma swallowed thickly, taking a final drag from her spent cigarette before tossing it aside. 

Vegeta glanced up at her, and she was pleased to note the way his cheeks had darkened. After almost five years, an unplanned pregnancy, and a divorce, she could still make this man blush.

“Get in, kid. Your mom and I need to talk.”

Trunks clambered into the open door of the cruiser, leaving the adults in semi-privacy. Bulma held the bag out to Vegeta, and he took it with one hand while reaching into his back pocket with the other. 

She slipped the small box into the pocket of her bathrobe, trying not to notice how warm it was from being close to his body. 

“I’m…” Vegeta raked his fingers through his hair, chewing on words that tasted bitter on his tongue. She still knew him so well.

“Don’t sweat it,” she cut him off before he could spit out an apology that, for once, she didn’t want to hear. “After I take the pill, we can pretend it never happened.”

Vegeta’s dark brows pinched together, and the muscles in his jaw tensed beneath freshly-shaven skin. But the expression was gone before Bulma had time to study it. 

“Fine.” Vegeta nodded, “I’ll, uh…”

They both jumped as the wail of a siren cut through the tense air. Trunks was grinning at them through the windshield, looking pleased with himself.

“Turn that off, boy!” Vegeta barked, and the silence was restored. 

He turned back to Bulma but didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll have him back by 8:00 tomorrow.”

Bulma pasted on a bright smile as she waved goodbye to Trunks. While Vegeta was occupied strapping the boy into his carseat, she retreated inside the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to give a little nod to our sweet angel, Grumpy Cat, after the tragic news last week. 😢 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! The next chapter will be up in a week or so, but until then, come find me on tumblr (1VulgarWoman) and twitter (@1Vulgar).


	3. There’s enough for two

The Briefs’ mansion felt cavernous and empty with only Bulma there. 

A week to herself had sounded like a nice idea, in theory. It had only been an hour since Trunks and her parents left for the beach, but she felt like she was losing her mind. 

She supposed she could drive to the office and find some work to bring home. That would keep her mind occupied, but she had promised herself she would do some self-care this weekend. 

In true Bulma Briefs fashion, she had relaxation down to a science. 

Step one: Open a bottle of her favorite wine. Step two: Take a nice long soak in the tub. Step three: Do NOT think about Vegeta. 

She was currently on step two, failing miserably at step three. To distract herself, she decided to start on the other items on her list. 

She had a TV installed above her bathtub, so she went ahead and turned on the new season of her favorite show, which she fully intended to binge watch all weekend. 

About halfway into the first episode, she let out a frustrated growl. Not even fantasy sci-fi drama could help her conquer step three. She blamed it on this season’s shoddy writing. 

Fortunately for her, she _was_ a genius, so she had a backup plan in place for emergencies such as these. Reaching for her phone, she unlocked it and signed in to the new app she had downloaded to keep her occupied this weekend.

She giggled to herself as she stared swiping. It was almost like shopping for men. Why hadn’t she done this sooner?

A few minutes later, her enthusiasm began to wane. Why was every other guy holding a fish in his photo? Most of the men she checked out looked nice enough, she supposed. But maybe that was the problem. The contrast only made her miss _him_ more. 

Bulma paused her frenzied swiping when a horrifying thought occurred to her. What if Vegeta was on here too? If she kept looking, would she eventually stumble upon his profile? 

The idea of Vegeta sitting at home, looking through photo after photo of gorgeous women in their twenties made her want to scream with rage. She might be closer to forty than twenty, but she was still just as beautiful as any air-headed sorority girl with daddy issues. She didn’t have to take this bullshit lying down. 

Tossing back the rest of her bottle of wine, she scrambled out of the bathtub. 

~ 0 ~ 

Vegeta hadn’t demanded much in the divorce. He could have taken her for half her fortune, but all he had asked for was shared custody of their son.

In the end, she had decided to give him her downtown apartment, where they had lived during those first semi-happy days of their marriage and pregnancy. She had wanted Trunks to have a familiar place to stay when he was with his father, and there were too many painful memories there anyway. 

Bulma stepped into the elevator and punched in the code for the penthouse, a little surprised he hadn’t changed it. When she reached the top floor, the elevator doors parted, revealing the familiar entryway. 

Everything looked exactly the same, down to the pair of boots neatly placed next to the mahogany bench. Most of the apartment was dark, but she could hear the muted notes of a Jimmy Buffet song coming from the living room. He was definitely home. 

“Vegeta! Yoo-hoo…” she called as she carefully navigated the marble floor in her five-inch heels, still a little dizzy from the wine. 

“The fuck?” he mumbled just before his shocked face appeared around the corner. 

Bulma groaned at the sight of him in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, slung low on his hips. _Who gave him the right?_

“Woman, what are you doing here? Is Trunks okay?”

“Trunks is fine. I just…have a little surprise for you.”

Bulma wobbled on her heels as she tugged the belt of her trench coat, but she managed to regain her balance as the material slipped from her shoulders. 

Vegeta’s eyes widened, dancing over her black lace bra, garter belt, and stockings. She had forgone panties altogether. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

“You’re drunk.”

Bulma giggled, taking another careful step closer. “Just a little.”

“You drove to a police officer’s home drunk?” His dark brow arched. 

“I took a cab.”

Vegeta’s scowl turned thunderous. “You got in a cab wearing that?”

“I had my coat on.” Bulma grinned as she studied his expression. “Why? You jealous somebody else might have seen me lookin’ this irresistible?”

Vegeta sighed. His eyes moved over her again, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Bulma, what is this all about?” 

She crossed her arms around her middle and shifted from foot to foot, self-conscious for the first time since removing her coat. 

“Look, I know we’re pretending what happened…didn’t. But Trunks is out of town with my parents, and—I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Even through her wine-induced haze, Bulma heard how pathetic she sounded. She was sure she would care eventually. But for now, he was looking at her with ravenous eyes. She could tell he was at war with himself. 

His chest heaved as he drew in a breath before releasing it on a soft sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes traveled back up to her face. 

“I just got some takeout,” he announced. At her questioning look, he clarified. “There’s enough for two.”

Bulma had to choke back a sob. His face swam behind a veil of pooling tears, which she bravely held back. 

“That sounds great,” she answered with a small smile. 

Vegeta nodded, turning in the direction of the bedroom.“I’ll just…get you something to wear.”

When she emerged a few minutes later in a pair of baggy sweat pants and a police department t-shirt, Vegeta had set out a plate and a fresh set of chop sticks for her. He had pulled some of the couch cushions onto the floor, arranging them around the coffee table like they’d done so often in the early days when they had still enjoyed each other’s company. 

She sat cross-legged next to him, taking the bottle of water he offered. “Thanks.”

“Help yourself.” Vegeta nodded towards the array of open takeout containers before shoveling noodles into his mouth. 

Bulma nibbled on a spring roll as she observed him from the corner of her eye. 

“Hey.” She nudged his leg with her foot. “Why are you being nice to me? If you weren’t feeling up to fooling around, you could have just thrown me out.”

He turned to her with a smirk. “Oh, I’m always feeling up to it, as you well know. I’m just not in the habit of indulging sad, drunk women who come stumbling into my apartment in the middle of the night.”

“Ah, there’s the asshole I thought I knew.” She winked at him as she served herself a generous helping of sesame chicken. 

Vegeta shrugged, sipping his beer. “I can’t have the mother of my kid wandering the streets drunk in her undergarments.”

Bulma punched him in the shoulder, only succeeding in hurting her own hand. She glared at Vegeta when he dared to laugh at her, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. 

“Asshole,” she grumbled, turning back to her food. 

“Where is the boy, anyway?”

“My parents took him to the beach house for the week.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

Bulma’s smile faded. “Work.”

She dared a glance at Vegeta to see him studying her from the corner of his eye. He knew her well enough to see through the half truth, but he didn’t question her. She could have taken the time off work if she had wanted to. It was her company, after all. But the idea of an entire week with no work to distract her from her thoughts had been unbearable. 

“Trunks really enjoyed going to that boxing match with you last week,” Bulma said, steering the conversation back in a safer direction. “He hasn’t shut up about it since.”

Vegeta’s face lit up with a rare smile, rendering Bulma speechless. His smiles came so few and far between, she always managed to forget he had dimples. 

“I thought about sending you pictures, but I wasn’t sure…”

“You can always send me pictures,” Bulma reassured him. 

Vegeta nodded, then reached for his phone. He motioned for her to come closer, and she complied, scooting her cushion over until her shoulder brushed his. 

She smiled as her son’s sweet face grinned at her from the screen. There were pictures of Trunks in the arena and with the fighters. Old friends, Vegeta explained. There was even one of the two of them together: a selfie with Trunks smiling down from his father’s shoulders. 

Seeing them together like that made something in Bulma’s chest ache. She stared at the photo for a long while before she realized Vegeta was looking at her, his face so close she could see the way his pupils dilated when their eyes met. 

His gaze dipped down to her lips, and her eyes had started to drift closed before he turned away, clearing his throat. 

Bulma blinked as the tension between them was broken. She returned her attention to her food, and Vegeta cracked open another beer. 

“If my…” Bulma cleared her throat. “If my parents send pictures from the beach, do you want me to forward them to you?”

Vegeta nodded. “That would be great.”

Bulma nodded her agreement, and they finished their dinner in companionable silence. 

They were still sitting close enough that their knees or arms brushed against each other every so often, sending little jolts of electricity rushing through her veins. Once their dinner was finished and cleared away, they turned the TV on, but ended up talking instead of paying attention to the screen.

Vegeta was much more relaxed with a six-pack of beer in him. He let her sling her legs over his lap and steal sips from his can, like she used to do. It felt old and new at the same time, like the remake of a classic film. 

When her eyelids started to grow heavy, she rested her head against his firm shoulder, closing her eyes to breathe in the warmth and the closeness that she’d been missing for so long. 

Her eyes cracked open again when strong arms lifted her from the floor, carrying her to bed. He tried to release her, but she held on until he slipped in behind her, heavy arm slung over her middle. Content, she allowed herself to rest. 

~ 0 ~

Was she dreaming?

She might be. It seemed likely, considering she hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in the past year. But someone was underneath the covers, sliding their warm hands beneath her t-shirt. Kissing her belly. Tugging her pants down her legs. 

It would have been frightening, but she’d know that mouth, those hands, anywhere. 

_“Vegeta.”_

He moaned against her core as his tongue parted her, tasting the arousal that had gathered so quickly beneath his touch. 

She reached under the duvet and found his thick mane of hair, weaving her fingers into it. His lips and tongue remembered exactly what she liked, drawing moan after helpless moan from her as she bucked against his mouth. 

One strong hand held her hips steady while the other found her breast beneath her t-shirt. She felt herself climb higher as he teased the tight peak with his fingertips, torn between the need for release and wanting to make it last. 

But the more she fought it, the more inevitable her climax became. It was building with every swipe of his tongue, pulling her under. She couldn’t stop it. 

Her thighs trembled uncontrollably as the wave swelled and crashed down over her, so intense it brought tears to her eyes. The scream that flew from her lips sounded vaguely like his name. 

She was still open-mouthed and dazed from her high when he appeared over her, stealing what little breath he had left her with the taste of herself on his lips. 

“You’re here,” he murmured against her mouth. “I woke up, and you were here.”

“I’m here,” she echoed, wrapping her shaking limbs around him. 

“Can I fuck you, Bulma, please?” His voice was raw, needy in a way only she knew he could be. “I fucking need you.”

“Oh, my god, yes,” she gasped as his mouth latched onto her neck. “Yes…”

With a growl, he pushed his shorts down his thighs, and then he was filling her. Bulma cried out, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her quiver and pulse around him. 

“Fuck, Bulma.” His hand gripped beneath her jaw in that rough, yet gentle, way she had never realized she needed until him. “You won’t forget this time, do you hear me? I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll never want to.”

_“God.”_ She threw her head back, surrendering completely. 

As if she could ever forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human beings don’t always make the best choices, do they? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Next time, the Vegebul pain train keeps on rollin’, and we learn a little more about their past. Until then, find me on tumblr (1VulgarWoman) and twitter (@1vulgar).


	4. You have the right to (not) remain silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started with the chapter, I wanted to share this amazing artwork by Vegebul_Soup. Thank you so much, friend! 😘
> 
>  

_Four-and-a-half years ago…_

It was the first time she had ever seen him in uniform. 

She wanted to be angry at him for taking almost a week to call, had planned on making him grovel. But the moment the elevator doors parted and he swaggered out like he owned the place, she was a goner. 

“Hi,” she almost purred, eying him up and down while he did the same to her. 

“Hi.”

“Are you here to arrest me, officer?” she simpered, raising her hands in mock innocence. 

Vegeta grinned, stalking towards her with his arms crossed over the strained material of his uniform shirt. “Perhaps. Have you been a naughty girl, Miss Briefs?”

Bulma nodded. “I’m afraid so, officer. Am I going to be punished?”

“That depends, Miss Briefs.” He had her backed up against the wall now, caging her in with his massive arms. “Confess your crimes, and I may be inclined to show mercy.”

Bulma let a small grin slip through her control before she snapped back into character, cowering beneath his piercing stare. “Well, officer, I…I touched myself. At work, under my desk. Anyone could have a walked in.”

His pupils blew wide, but his face remained stern. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So vulgar. I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you for public masturbation, Miss Briefs.”

“Oh, no! Please. I won’t do it again.”

“Turn around,” he barked. “Hands on the wall.”

“Fuck,” Bulma sighed as she did as he demanded. God, that commanding tone made her feel unspeakable things. 

“Spread your legs.” His voice was close to her ear, softer now, but no less demanding. 

As soon as she complied, his hands were on her, patting systematically like she’d seen cops do on TV.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing all too briefly as his voice sent goosebumps racing down her arms. 

When he knelt behind her and ran his fingers up her thighs, beneath her skirt, she nearly sobbed with want. _Please keep going_. 

To her frustration, he stopped just short of brushing over her soaked panties, removing his hands from her altogether. 

“Do you understand your rights, as I have read them to you?”

She nodded, sticking her ass out to rub against the front of his pants. “I understand. I’ll be so good for you, officer.”

He growled into her neck and bucked against her — the first sign that their play was affecting him at all. “I suppose I won’t have to use the cuffs, then.”

She could hear the cocky smile in his voice. 

“Oh, no. I think you should definitely use the cuffs.” 

His dark chuckle turned her insides to goo. He spun her to face him, letting her watch as he withdrew his handcuffs, dangling them on the tip of his finger. 

“Now, Miss Briefs, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in. Unless…” 

“Unless?” she asked, holding her hands out in front of her. 

To her surprise, he snapped one end of the cuffs onto her narrow wrist and the other to his own. There was no escaping him now, even if she had wanted to. 

“On your knees, Miss Briefs.” His voice was softer now, almost a whisper. 

Her eyes held his as she sank down to kneel on the unforgiving marble. With a tug of his wrist, he yanked her closer, until she was eye level with his belt buckle. 

“I think I know a way you can convince me,” he rasped. The clang of the metal buckle flipping open echoed in the quiet foyer, followed by the thud of his gun belt hitting the tile. 

Bulma licked her lips as his thick fingers worked the button of his pants free, then lowered the zipper. She fisted the material of her skirt in her free hand, fighting to keep it at her side, to remain in character.

With deliberate slowness, he reached into his briefs and pulled out his hardened length, stroking it a couple times before nudging the pink tip against her lips. 

Bulma obediently opened for him, relaxing her throat to let him slide deeper. She gagged a little, but it wasn’t bad. Quite the opposite. She loved his clean, masculine taste and the way his fingers delved into her shoulder-length hair, encouraging gently. 

“Good girl,” he growled as she hallowed her cheeks, dragging her lips up his length and back down again. 

Bulma whimpered at the praise, bringing her free hand up to stroke what her mouth couldn’t reach and redoubling her efforts. His own groans grew louder, and soon, he was using their linked hands to pull her to her feet. 

“Holy shit, woman. I’m not going last with you doing that.”

She smiled against his mouth as he kissed and nibbled her swollen lips. Her back connected with the wall, and he lifted his arm, pinning her cuffed hand overhead. 

Their free hands worked in tandem to shimmy her skirt up and her panties down. Before she could even kick the scrap of black lace away, he was looping her leg over his arm, opening her. 

Bulma reached between them to guide his length to her entrance. She was already wetter than she could remember being in years. He slid inside easily, filling her in two smooth thrusts. 

“Oh, god,” she moaned into his neck as he pinned her there, her one hand clinging desperately to his shoulder as the leg she stood on buckled. 

She slipped, and he followed her down until they landed in a tangle of limbs on the tile floor. Vegeta braced the hand connected to hers on the floor by her head, bringing the other down to stroke her clit. 

“Fuck, Vegeta, I’m getting close.”

He growled against her neck, his thrusts stuttering to a halt as he cursed under his breath. 

“What is it?” she asked, squirming beneath him. “Please don’t stop.”

“I forgot the condom,” he groaned, looking down at her with a pained expression. 

He started to withdraw, but Bulma tightened her legs around his waist. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you pull out, okay?.”

Vegeta groaned, leaning down to capture her lips again before continuing where they left off. 

Seconds later, Bulma felt herself climb higher, teetering just shy of the edge. 

“Harder. Pease.” 

He pushed up on his knees, changing the angle so he was hitting a spot deep inside her that made her thighs tremble. 

“Yes, yes, yes….Fuck, I’m gonna come!”

“Me too,” he growled, his hips snapping erratically against hers. He started to pull away, but she clung to him, fisting her hand in his uniform shirt. 

“Don’t stop. I’m coming!”

Vegeta’s face contorted with effort as she clenched and fluttered around him, the metal cuffs digging into their wrists as she strained against them. 

“Shit!” He cried out, pulling back just in time to coat her inner thigh with his spend. 

Bulma sighed as he slipped his still-hard length back inside her, leaning down for a languid kiss. 

His damp forehead rested against her neck, his panting breaths warming her skin. “That was close,” he observed.

“Mmm…” Bulma sucked in a deep breath, carding her fingers through his thick hair. “You wanna order pizza?”

~ 0 ~ 

_Present Day_ …

Bulma stretched and sighed as the first streaks of morning light fell across the bed. 

A lazy smile tugged at her lips. She felt well rested despite the headache that throbbed behind her temples. The slight burn between her thighs reminded her that last night wasn’t a dream. 

She felt thoroughly ravished. She _was_ thoroughly ravished. 

Her hand trailed along the sheets beside her, finding them cold and empty. 

She sat up. A strip of light was visible beneath the closed bathroom door. If she listened, she could make out the soft patter of the shower running. 

The state of bliss she had woken up in faded away as she took stock of her actions with sober eyes.

She covered her face with both hands, wishing the bed would open up and swallow her. If Vegeta hadn’t already thought she was pathetic, he certainty did now. Hell, she thought she was pathetic. Showing up at her ex husband’s house in the middle of the night, practically begging him to have sex with her…She might as well have served him her dignity on a silver platter. 

Tossing away the covers, she clambered out of bed. She had to get out of here before Vegeta was done showering. There was no way she could face him yet. Or ever. 

Frantic, she looked around for something to wear. The lingerie she had shown up in rested in a tangle of black lace on the dresser, and Vegeta had, apparently, hung her trench coat over the bedroom door at some point. 

Perfect. She could either face the walk of shame in her ex’s clothes or the lingerie she had worn in a pathetic, drunken attempt to seduce him. Just when she thought she couldn’t sink any lower. 

With a frustrated groan, she shucked off the rumpled t-shirt he leant her and tossed it into the hamper. The idea of having to return it to him later was too mortifying to even consider. She put her bra on under the coat and shoved the garter belt and stockings into the pocket.

The shower cut off just as she was stepping into her heels. “Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed under her breath. She was halfway to the bedroom door when Vegeta emerged from the bathroom, toweling off his damp hair. 

“Hey. Hi.” She stuttered as she tried not to look at his naked body. 

“Hi,” Vegeta parroted back, assessing her with narrowed eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I was just, um…”

“Were you even going to tell me?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, his motions jerky as he voice grew louder. “Or were you just going to sneak away like some cheap one-night stand?”

Bulma’s eyes narrowed as her embarrassment turned to anger. “Now listen here, buddy, I don’t know what the hell you expected to happen, but…”

“I’m the father of your goddam child,” he interrupted, opening a drawer and tossing several items of clothing onto the bed. “The least you could do is say goodbye. But I guess you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

He slammed the drawer hard enough to make the dresser tilt and nearly topple over. 

Bulma’s fists balled up at her sides. If the easy companionship of last night had felt familiar to her, this did too. Their fights had always escalated quickly, but Vegeta had crossed a line this time. 

Her pulse blared inside her ears as all the hurt and confusion of the past months swelled and boiled over. He truly had no idea what it was she wanted. No idea at all. 

“You left me!” she exploded, pointing her index finger right at his scowling face. “ _You_ left! And I don’t recall getting a fucking goodbye, so you don’t get to be mad about this.” 

Through the veil of hot tears that welled up and started to overflow, she could see his furious expression transform into one of shock. It only made her angrier. 

Taking a step closer, she planted her palms against his chest and pushed. It felt good. Amazing, really. So she did it again, and again, taking out all her pent-up hurt and anger on his skin as her cheeks grew wet with tears. 

“ _You_ left! You left me, and you broke my fucking heart.” Her palms were beginning to sting, so she balled her hands into fists, continuing her ineffective assault while Vegeta gaped mutely at her. “I loved you! I gave a damn about you.”

“Bulma.” He grasped her arms in his warm hands, stopping her. 

She struggled against his gentle hold for a moment before the fight flowed out of her like the receding tide. Hot tears rolled down her face, puddling on the floor at their feet. 

Gathering the last of her dignity, she jerked away, batting away his hands. “Fuck you. Fucking bastard,” she sobbed, fleeing as fast as her heels allowed through the apartment. 

As she stood, wiping her eyes with her sleeves while she waited for the elevator, she wondered if he would come after her. 

A fresh round of tears fell as the doors parted and she realized he wasn’t going to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready to find out why exactly they broke up? I think that *might* be in the next chapter, so stay tuned. 😏
> 
> Also... Practice safe sex, people. 
> 
> Or you will get pregnant. And die. 
> 
>  


	5. The day he lost her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! We’ve reached about the half-way point in this story. Time to switch to Vegeta’s POV and finally get some answers. Thanks for reading! 😘

_Four years ago…_

Vegeta’s hands shook has he stared down at two pink lines on a plastic stick. 

“I’m keeping it,” he heard Bulma say over the ringing in his ears. “I’m thirty-four. This might be my only chance to have a baby.”

Vegeta clutched the stick tighter to keep from dropping it. 

“But I’m offering you an out, if you want it. I don’t need anything from you. I can do this on my own.”

A child? He’d never considered wanting one before. His own father had been mostly absent from his early life. Did he even know how to raise a kid? He would probably be terrible at it. 

He looked up at the woman standing in front of him, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. That look of fierce determination on her face — She looked like a warrior queen gearing up for battle. 

“I’m in,” he announced, and Bulma stopped talking mid-rant. “Should we…I don’t know. Make this official?”

Bulma’s brow puckered. “You mean, date each other exclusively? Sure. I mean, I was only seeing you anyway…”

Vegeta shook his head. _“Legal.”_

Her eyes went wide. 

Vegeta’s palms grew slick as he waited for her answer. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like getting married had ever been a part of his plan. 

But somehow, from the first morning he had woken up teetering on the edge of the bed, Bulma’s limbs taking up all but a small sliver of mattress, marrying her had seemed inevitable. 

The sun would rise in the east, summer would turn to fall, and he would marry Bulma Briefs. 

The realization had terrified him at first. He had never thought of himself as the marrying type, so he had played it cool with her, keeping things as light and casual as he could manage with the intense attraction that raged between them. 

In a sense, he was relieved that chance had made this decision for him. This didn’t have to be about sentiment or _feelings_ — things he was absolute shit at dealing with. It made sense for them to do this, at least in his mind. It was soon, sure, but it would have happened eventually. Of that, he was certain. 

“Y-you want to marry me?” 

Her eyes looked a little glassy. Hormones, he assumed. 

“I think, strategically, it makes sense for us to form an official alliance, yes…”

The breath was knocked out of him as Bulma launched herself into his lap. “Yes! I mean, you know you don’t have to do this to be a part of the kid’s life, right? You could just move in.”

Vegeta shook his head, plastering on his fiercest scowl to counteract the blush he felt creeping up his neck. “Of course I know I don’t have to. Now, do you want to get married or not?”

“Yes!” she answered with a delighted squeal. “It’s probably crazy, but yes. I want to get married.”

Before Vegeta could work up a good panic attack, her mouth was pressed to his, her arms were winding around his shoulders, and he realized that this was right. 

She was carrying his child, they were getting married, and it was right. He had never felt more certain of anything. 

~ 0 ~ 

_Present day…_

Vegeta took an automatic step towards the bedroom door, ready to go after her, then stopped himself. 

_Don’t do anything stupid._

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he listened to the rapid clatter of Bulma’s heels on the floor. The ‘ding’ of the elevator arriving. The doors opening and then closing again. 

She was gone. 

With a tortured roar, he spun around and swept everything off of the top of the dresser. The resulting crash fed the rage building inside him. He needed more. 

Gripping the edge of the sturdy piece of furniture, he flung it to the ground, splintering the polished mahogany. 

The heels of his hands pressed against his closed eyelids. All he could see was red — and blue. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Destroying the home he still thought of as ‘theirs’ wasn’t going to fix the hopeless pit that had become his life. 

He walked to the table beside the bed and opened the top drawer. There was a manila envelope inside, it’s edges dirty and creased from the frequent press of his fingers. 

He opened it, then turned it over, letting out a ragged breath as a stack of photographs spilled out onto the bed. 

There were pictures of Trunks and Bulma, both together and separate. They were smiling in a few, but never looking at the camera. Some were taken from behind, some through the bedroom or kitchen window. In some, they were in the car. 

He picked up one of Bulma, clad in only a short, silky nightgown, her then long hair still wet from the shower. She was just climbing into bed after putting Trunks down. Unsuspecting. Vulnerable. 

He had looked at these pictures many times since the day they had appeared on the front seat of his cruiser. 

The same day he had sold the last bit of his soul to the devil to keep her safe. 

The day he had lost her. 

The Majin crime family had gotten to him right out of rookie school. It had started off simply. A handful of cash each week to turn a blind eye. Not too much harm done. 

Over the years, they had drawn him in deeper and deeper. No longer could he simply cover up their illegal activities. He was now a forced participant. If a drug-sniffing dog came within smelling distance of his cruiser, it might pick up the traces of cocaine residue. And worse. 

Vegeta recalled the day the pictures of his family had first been delivered, along with a demand that sealed his fate once and for all, and was forced to blink away tears. 

He had known as soon as he saw the photos and read the accompanying letter that his life was over. He was a man marked for death. It was only a matter of time. 

If his involvement and the things he had done for the Majins was found out, he would go to prison, possibly for the rest of his life. But he knew they would never allow it to come to that. They would kill him first. It was an inevitability. He knew too much. 

His own life might be forfeit, but he didn’t have to take Bulma down with him. 

On that fateful day, now a year past, he had arrived home while she and Trunks were out, washed the blood off his hands and thrown his ruined uniform in a trash bag. Then he had packed his things. 

His leaving might have seemed sudden, but the state of their marriage made it sadly believable. They fought almost constantly. Not that he minded. He loved that Bulma challenged him, that she didn’t take any of his shit. 

She would likely tell others that he had been taking extra shifts and coming home later and later, which was true. But the reason would be misconstrued as an affair or simply the desire to avoid his wife and child. Bulma would never know the truth. Hopefully that would be enough to spare her, though there was no hope for him. 

He picked up the pillow she had slept on last night and pressed it to his face, inhaling the lingering traces of her sweet, feminine scent. His breath hitched as the tears he had been holding at bay began to soak the pillowcase. 

When she had shown up at his door, sloppy drunk, but looking like something straight out of his fantasies, he had wanted to be a gentleman about it. He really had. But then he had woken up with her pressed against him, the familiar smell of her shampoo overwhelming his senses, and had lost all control. 

He knew he had no right to be hurt that she would leave without saying goodbye. She didn’t know the truth: that he had never wanted to leave her. And that was for the best. It was the only way he could hope to keep her safe. 

Her angry parting words rang in his head. It had never occurred to him that he had hurt her that deeply. A part of him had even been convinced she would be relieved to see him go. She had never seemed particularly happy in their marriage. His frequent absences and emotional stuntedness were constant sources of frustration for her, he knew. 

Until that morning, he had been convinced he had only hurt himself by leaving. Now the guilt of hurting Bulma, even to protect her, cut through his heart like a sharpened knife. 

One sentence in particular twisted that blade. It was only three words, nine letters. Such a small phrase to carry so much meaning. 

_‘I loved you.’_

Those words had never been spoken between them while they were together, and it had never occurred to him to mind. Their marriage had been about forming an alliance to raise the child they had created. Love hadn’t been a part of the decision. 

_Hadn’t it, though?_

He could have simply agreed to be a father to the boy. That could easily have been accomplished without marriage. 

The truth was, he had made the decision with his heart, not his head. He might lack the emotional skills to articulate it, but he had always loved Bulma, from that first passionate night when she had argued with him about cheese fries and managed to get him out on the dance floor. 

He had loved her then, and he loved her now. But she could never know. 

Vegeta curled up on the bed, the pillow hugged against his chest, and stared at the pile of photographs. His heart raced as he thought about someone watching his family, getting close enough to take those, unnoticed. Fear once again gripped his heart like a vice. 

He knew he had to get up soon. He had work to do, work that he despised but needed to do to protect them. His family. He had never thought he would have one, but now that he did, there was nothing in the world more precious. 

The message of the stack of photos was clear. Stay in line. Do as he’s told. Or those he loved would suffer the consequences. 

He had been following orders for all of these months like a machine, programmed and emotionless. But now, knowing what he now knew…

_‘I loved you.’_

He wondered if there might be a way, any way, to make things right with Bulma _and_ keep her safe.

But his logical mind knew there was none. The Majins had eyes and ears everywhere. If he confided in her, or if they so much as suspected he might have, she would be killed along with him. He could never allow that to happen. 

At least he knew he would be gone long before Trunks was old enough to be suspected of knowing anything. Vegeta would cherish his time with their son until the day of reckoning came, doing what he had to do without question to ensure Bulma and their child remained safe. There was nothing more he could hope for.


	6. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Sorry this chapter took a million years to finish. I’m thinking there should be just one more and an epilogue after this.

For the first time in his life, Vegeta wished he was interested in using the narcotics this city seemed to be swimming in. The emotions roiling inside him were overwhelming, and there seemed to be no available outlet. 

Once, he might have gone home and picked a fight with Bulma to blow off some steam. He knew it was wrong of him, but the makeup sex had always been so sweet. 

He would have punched something if he wasn’t standing in the middle of a police station he knew housed at least two others on the Majin payroll. Now more than ever, it was imperative he toe the line. 

The new picture tucked inside the breast pocket of his uniform shirt felt like a lead weight over his heart. 

How could he have been so careless? He should have told Bulma to turn right back around and go home the second she stepped into his penthouse, but he had been weak and foolish. 

The message of the new photo was clear. Someone had seen her leave his place early in the morning. It made it look like they were sneaking around, and if they were sharing secret trysts, who knew what other secrets they might be sharing. 

Vegeta clocked out for the day, at least from his official job. He was almost out the door when he saw Special Agent Son approaching in a poorly-fitted suit, his tie loosened and askew. 

His former partner’s promotion to detective had been a blow to Vegeta’s pride that still smarted. He squared his shoulders, giving the taller man a terse nod. 

“Geets! Long time, no see.” Goku’s cheerful grin faded as he looked Vegeta over. It was annoying how well his former partner could read his moods. “Hey, is something wrong?”

Vegeta shook his head. “I’ve got it under control.”

He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. For one, he had given away that there was, in fact, something wrong. But he also heard just how false his words sounded. He didn’t have it under control at all. 

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, you know where to find me.” Goku smiled again, shuffling past him into the doorway. “See ya’ round.”

As Vegeta trudged across the parking lot to his cruiser, he found himself pondering Goku’s words. He knew for a fact that his former partner wasn’t working for the Majins. The rivalry between them had been intense from day one of rookie school, but he had done everything he could to keep Goku out of their clutches. 

It was silly, he thought with a huff, that his first instinct was to protect a man who had managed to outshine him at every turn. If anything, he was the one who needed Goku’s help. 

Vegeta rested his fingers over his shirt pocket, feeling the photo paper crinkle beneath the fabric. Coming from most people, Goku’s words might have been brushed off as an empty platitude, but he knew the offer was sincere. 

No matter how his pride might revolt, he wondered if accepting Goku’s help might be the only option left if he was going to keep his family safe. 

~ 0 ~

Vegeta tossed beneath the sheets that still smelled like Bulma, sleep seeming like an impossible goal. 

He had spent most of the day at the zoo with Trunks, struggling to keep up a brave front for his son. The knowledge that this could very well be his last day with the boy had threatened his composure. 

Things with the syndicate had escalated. He wondered if it was safe for Trunks to be anywhere near him, but there was no way to alter their routine without arousing suspicion. Even in his penthouse, high above the sleeping city, it was difficult to feel secure. 

He tossed back the covers and trudged down the hallway to Trunks’ room. The boy had been so worn out after their day that he had needed to be carried to bed. Vegeta wasn’t concerned about waking him. 

He drew aside the astronaut-themed duvet and slipped in beside the sleeping boy, curling his body around him. Trunks snuggled closer without waking, fisting his tiny hands in Vegeta’s t-shirt. 

The comforting weight of his son’s head on his shoulder made the tension bleed out of him. He tightened his arms around Trunks, breathing in the scent of his hair. 

Vegeta hadn’t expected to sleep, but he realized he must have when he opened his eyes to see Trunks looking down at him, his face haloed in the early-morning sunlight. 

Blue eyes — the exact color of Bulma’s but slanted like his — lit up as he ruffled that wispy lavender hair. 

All his life, Vegeta had been selfish, prideful. Arrogant. He had been, and still would be, paid out for his folly. But somehow, in the midst of chaos and secrecy and regret, he had managed to create something so pure, so perfect. He didn’t deserve the way his son was looking at him now: like he was someone worthy. Someone good. 

“What are we gunna play today, Daddy?” Trunks bounced on his knees eagerly, shaking the bed. 

“Come here, son,” Vegeta whispered, drawing the squirming toddler into his embrace. “I don’t hold you often enough, do I?”

Vegeta could tell the boy was growing impatient, so he pressed his lips to the top of his head for a too-brief moment before releasing him. 

“I’m proud of you, Trunks.” His voice caught on the last word. He wondered if Trunks was old enough now to remember this moment, to know that his father cared. 

“Can we have pancakes, Daddy?”

Vegeta smiled indulgently. He might not be able to give Trunks a father’s guidance for most of his formative years, but this he could do. “Sure thing, squirt.”

He stood, hauling the squealing boy over his shoulder, as they made their way to the kitchen. 

~ 0 ~ 

Bulma blinked rapidly in the darkness, drawing in a panicked breath against the firm hand that covered her mouth. 

Her bedroom was still dark. It must be several hours before dawn. Adrenaline surged through her until she was trembling from head to toe, trying to make out the face of her assailant in the inky darkness. 

“Shh…Bulma, it’s me.”

Relief, warm and heady, washed over her. The fact that her ex had broken into her bedroom, uninvited, in the middle of the night shouldn’t have been a relief, especially since she’d been avoiding him, letting her mother handle all Trunks’ hand-offs for the time being. Her hurt had been too raw after the way they’d parted, sparking like an exposed wire. But she _was_ relieved. Despite the strange circumstances and the way they had parted, his presence felt like safety. Like home. 

Before she could question him, the hand covering her mouth slid down to toss her duvet aside. He pulled her from the bed with gentle but urgent movements, leading her through the dark room into the en suite. 

His face was silhouetted in the dim glow of the nightlight, but she barely had time to take him in before he was pressing her against the wall.

Vegeta kissed her with an urgency that stole her breath. Bulma found herself kissing him back before her sleep-muddled brain could make a good case for why she shouldn’t. 

His lips coaxed hers open, and he tasted her deeply, desperately. Rough hands traced the shape of her hips beneath her nightgown. She would have bruises tomorrow, she was sure. Not that it mattered. 

There was an edge to this kiss that Bulma had never felt from him before. Something dark and desperate that had her insides twisting themselves into knots. 

She pulled away, watching the raw emotion play across his face as his eyes traced her features in the dim light. 

“Vegeta, how the hell did you get in here?”

“I climbed up your balcony. You should really start locking those doors.”

“But why…”

His lips crashed down on hers again, swallowing the rest of her question. This time, she felt the way his hands trembled against her sides, sensed his distress. He whimpered into her mouth, a sad, haunting sound that was unlike anything she had ever heard from him before. 

She pulled back again, this time trapping his face between her hands to stop him from cutting her off. 

“Vegeta, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Is the boy asleep?”

Bulma’s brow furrowed. “Of course. What…?”

Without another word, he grasped one of her hands in his and tugged her back into the bedroom. 

“Vegeta? Talk to me, please.” 

They were in the hallway now, crossing to stand in front of Trunks’ room. Vegeta let go of her hand and pushed the door open, slipping silently inside. 

Bulma watched as he knelt beside the bed where their son slept, resting a shaking hand against Trunks’ hair. The boy stirred but didn’t wake, and after what could have been hours or minutes, Vegeta stood, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Trunks’ forehead. 

Bulma was trembling now, leaning heavily against the wall for support. The expression on Vegeta’s face as he closed the door behind him and turned to her made the panicked knot in her stomach constrict even further. 

“Vegeta…” she managed to squeak around the lump in her throat. His eyes found hers in the soft glow from a nearby lamp, and she could see that they were wet. 

His hands cupped her face again, thumbs stroking her cheeks, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized she had shed. 

“You and the boy should stay inside for a while,” he whispered. “Keep away from the windows, and don’t open the door for anyone.”

He started to pull away, and Bulma felt, more than heard, the desperate cry that left her throat. She reached for him, clinging to his shirt so fiercely it was a wonder the fabric didn’t tear. 

“Promise me, Bulma.” He removed her hands gently, cradling them between both of his. 

“What’s going on? Vegeta…”

“Goodbye.” He pressed his lips to hers softy. They tasted like salt. “I love you.”

Bulma found herself frozen in shock, elation warring with the terror already coursing through her veins. 

Vegeta pulled away, and with a last, lingering look, he turned, disappearing into the darkened doorway of her room. 

Bulma tried to follow, but her legs buckled beneath her. The sound of the french doors closing echoed in the heavy silence. 

Bulma sank to her knees on the hallway rug, tears streaming down her cheeks and a silent cry on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets too worked up, I promise I would tag it there was a major character death in this story. Promise. 🥰


	7. Don’t you dare give up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooo sorry about the long wait, friends. It was the perfect storm of me moving apartments and this chapter being an especially difficult one for me to write that did it. I’m all moved in now and settled, so the next chapters should come at a more normal pace. 
> 
> Speaking of which, I know I said this would be the last chapter besides an epilogue, but I didn’t fit everything I though I could into this chapter. There will be at least one more and then the epilogue. 
> 
> Some of you will be happy to know that the angst peaks in this chapter, and things will only go uphill from here. So keep hanging in there with me!

_Four years ago…_

“I do.”

His voice was low and softer than she’d ever heard it.

He had worn a pair of slacks and a blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. She had chosen a simple white tea-length dress with cap sleeves. Their only witnesses were her parents and the judge.

It wasn’t the large, extravagant wedding Bulma had envisioned for most of her life, but she was happy.

When they were pronounced man and wife, he kissed her softly, almost shyly. As she leaned down to sign the register, there was a tiny stirring deep inside her belly, beneath the small rounded bump most people wouldn’t notice yet. Little Trunks or Bulla. She wondered if the baby could feel her joy.

And then it was done.

Vegeta endured a group hug with her exuberant parents. He looked ten years younger today, his face serene and free of lines without his ever-present frown. Nobody could possibly be more handsome, Bulma thought. And he was hers.

The bright midday sun blinded her for a moment when they exited the courthouse. She heard the cheers and cat calls before she saw their source. Vegeta muttered a low curse beside her, but miraculously, his smile didn’t fade.

At lease half the Easy City police force was lined up on the sidewalk, clapping and pelting them with birdseed. Goku was the first to approach, grabbing them both up in a crushing hug.

“I can’t believe my two best friends are married now,” he enthused before Vegeta elbowed him aside.

Bulma laughed at her new husband’s scandalized expression as they approached his cruiser, which had been decorated with blown-up condoms and suggestive graffiti. ‘Just married’ was written across the back window in Goku’s messy scrawl.

She tugged on Vegeta’s hand. “Come on, hubby. Bora Bora awaits.”

The promise of a secluded villa half a world away coaxed Vegeta into the cruiser.

Bulma waved goodbye to their friends as they drove off into a future that felt incredibly bright.

~ 0 ~

Bulma blinked away the last of her tears as the red and blue flashing lights lit up the kitchen windows.

She had been waiting for this. Not long after Vegeta left, a sick feeling had begun to pool in her belly, and she had known it was only a matter of time before an unfamiliar police cruiser appeared at her door.

She had calmly walked to her parents’ room and shaken her mother awake to let her know she would need to watch Trunks once he woke. Then she had returned to her own room and dressed herself, ignoring the silent tears that tracked down her cheeks.

The first grey light of dawn had just appeared on the horizon with the dancing red and blue lights. It was time.

She left her mug of lukewarm tea on the counter and walked bravely to the door, head held high.

There was a soft knock, and she could see Officer Krillin standing on the other side, hat in his hands.

“Bulma,” he greeted her when she stepped out, his voice solemn. “You’d better come along with me. It’s…”

“It’s Vegeta,” she interrupted, surprising herself with how normal her voice sounded. “I know.”

Krillin didn’t ask how she knew. He ushered her to the cruiser and opened the front door for her. It wasn’t until she attempted to buckle her seatbelt that she realized her hands were shaking.

The next several minutes passed by in a blur as Krillin maneuvered the cruiser through the empty streets, sirens blaring. A nurse with a kindly face was there to greet her when they parked at the emergency room entrance of East City General Hospital.

“Miss Briefs, come with me, please. A doctor will be with you shortly to explain about your husband’s…Uh, _former_ husband’s condition.”

“Where is he? I want to see him.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid that isn’t…”

“You will take me to see him, right now!” Bulma all but screamed in the woman’s shocked face.

Before the nurse could finish stammering excuses, Bulma was running. She sprinted past the automatic doors and into the crowded ER, following only her instincts and an invisible string that tugged her around the corner, toward an open door marked ‘Trauma Room 1.’

Behind her, voices were calling for her to stop, but she pushed on, following the whine of a defibrillator charging.

“Clear!” an unseen voice called from within the room, and there was a resounding ‘thunk’ that seemed to smack into her own chest.

She was almost there now. The unseen voice was barking orders to recharge. Another sound reached her then, making her blood run cold. A long, unbroken tone.

Just as she reached the open doorway, her feet flew out from under her, and she landed on her hands and knees on the tile floor.

Red. So much red, staining the sterile white tile, and now her palms as well. She held them up in front of her face, examining them like they were someone else’s hands attached to her body, like she didn’t recognize them.

Someone tried to pull her away, but she grasped the doorframe with all her might, sinking her nails into the wood.

“Vegeta!”

The sound of her own voice stunned her. It was tortured, raw.

Bulma couldn’t see much of the still figure lying on the table, but she knew beyond any doubt that it was him. She watched as the grim-faced doctor performing CPR began to slow, shaking his head.

“No!” she screamed, drawing every eye in the room. More hands tugged at her shoulders, but she held on tighter. “Don’t you dare give up! Vegeta!”

The doctors on either side of the table exchanged a look, and one nodded before giving the order to charge again. There was another ‘thunk’ of the defibrillator discharging, yet the long, unbroken tone droned on.

Bulma dropped her forehead against the doorframe, a sob so deep she wondered if she would ever breathe again tearing through her.

_I didn’t say it back._

The thought played on a loop in her pain-wracked brain for what could have been hours or seconds, tormenting her.

_I didn’t say it back._

Beep…beep…beep…

“We have sinus rhythm,” a surprised doctor exclaimed, and Bulma’s sobs of anguish turned to sobs of relief.

He was alive.

“Let’s get him to the OR. Move!”

Someone’s hands tugged Bulma back from the door, moving her out of the way as the gurney was rushed past.

She watched as they wheeled Vegeta’s prone form into the elevator and disappeared from sight.

~ 0 ~

Bulma’s hands felt raw from scrubbing, but finally, the last traces of crimson disappeared down the drain.

She splashed water on her face and reached for a paper towel to dry off with. Her hands were still shaking with the aftereffects of adrenaline. She should probably eat something, but she wasn’t sure she could.

The eyes looking back at her from the bathroom mirror were haunted and dull, but finally dry. Vegeta would pull through this. He had to.

The hospital staff had given her some scrub pants to replace her blood-stained slacks. She looked ridiculous, but for once, she didn’t care.

They had told her Vegeta could be in surgery for hours yet, and even if he survived the procedure, there was a chance his brain might have been deprived of oxygen for too long. There was no guarantee he would wake up again.

Despite all this, Bulma felt strangely at peace. They had come through so much. After everything that had conspired to tear them apart, it seemed like they could finally find their way back to each other. There was no way the universe, or Kami, or whatever was out there would take him from her now. What would be the point?

Calm and resolute, Bulma made her way to the OR floor waiting room. It was quiet and softly lit with rows of beige chairs lining the walls. Bulma was about to take a seat when she noticed a familiar pair huddled quietly in the corner.

“Chichi?”

The dark-haired woman looked up and offered Bulma a small, sad smile. Gohan didn’t stir. His little face was serene as he slept with his head in his mother’s lap.

“What are you guys doing here?” Bulma asked, sinking into an empty seat beside her friend. “Goku…?”

“He’s in surgery.” Chichi’s voice wavered a little on the last word. “He was shot twice, in the leg and shoulder.”

“Oh my God, Chichi. Is he going to be okay?”

Chichi nodded. “They think so, baring any unforeseen complications.”

The two women fell silent for a moment, and Chichi continued stroking Gohan’s soft, black hair.

“I overheard some of the officers talking earlier,” Chichi continued. “I know Vegeta is here too.”

Bulma nodded, not trusting her voice to function through the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Is he going to be okay?” Chichi asked. “I would hate for Trunks to lose his father at such a young age.”

Bulma drew in a deep breath and cleared her throat. “They said he was shot in the chest. It doesn’t look great, but…he’ll be okay. He has to be.”

Chichi gave her a compassionate look, one that said she understood that Bulma’s fears were for more than just her son.

“Do you have any idea what happened, Chi? Vegeta was acting really strangely earlier, like he knew this was coming.”

“You didn’t hear?” Chichi cocked an eyebrow.

“Hear what?”

“It’s all over the news,” Chichi explained. “There was a big showdown with that Majin gang Goku has been trying to take down for a while now. They got all their leaders and most of the lesser members too. Three officers were killed, but they won’t release the names yet.”

“Kami,” Bulma breathed, raking her fingers through her short hair. “I’m sorry to hear that, but at least they got them all.”

Chichi nodded in agreement, and the two fell silent again.

The waiting area door swung open, and a doctor in a surgical gown strode in. Bulma stood, but Chichi remained seated, mindful of the sleeping child in her lap.

“Who is it?” Bulma asked, a sick knot of fear coiling in her belly. If it was Vegeta this soon, that could only mean bad news.

“Mrs. Son?” the doctor asked, and Bulma inclined her head to indicate her friend. “Your husband is out of surgery now. He should be awake soon if you’d like to come with me.”

Bulma mustered a genuine smile for her relieved friend. She watched as Chichi rested Gohan’s head on her shoulder and followed the doctor from the room.

~ 0 ~

“Miss Briefs? Miss Bulma Briefs?”

Bulma groaned as she tried to straighten from her slumped position in the waiting room chair. Unconsciousness threatened to pull her back under, but it all came rushing back to her at once. She bolted upright, almost bowling the concerned doctor over in her haste.

“Vegeta! Is he…?”

“He’s out of surgery,” the doctor explained. “We won’t know more until he wakes up, but he pulled through.”

Relief so sweet it made her lightheaded washed over Bulma. “Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded, and Bulma followed her down the hallway to a small recovery area partitioned off by sterile blue curtains.

There he was, lying impossibly still, with what seemed like thousands of tubes and wires protruding from beneath the paper hospital gown.

He looked so vulnerable like this, but she knew the truth. Her Vegeta was a fighter to the core. Even now, knocked down and beaten, he was far from giving up.

He would come through this, and she would be there when he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know that the entirety of my medical knowledge (or lack thereof) comes from Grey’s Anatomy. I accept no responsibility for any inaccuracies. 😅


	8. A healing pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was like pulling teeth for me to write, guys. That’s my excuse for leaving you hanging for an ungodly amount of time. Thanks for sticking with me!

Vegeta felt like his mind was wading through a thick fog. 

Every time he thought he could break through to the other side, more tendrils would appear, pulling him back under. 

In the brief breaks between what felt like eternities of mindless delirium, he remembered things. At least he thought they were memories. He couldn’t be sure. 

He remembered being summoned by the Majin bosses. He remembered the fear and resignation that had pierced through him, and also the relief. After months of waiting, the moment had arrived. It would all be over soon. 

He saw flashes of moments that had felt surreal even while he was fully lucid, living then.

Kneeling on a cement floor, eyes casting about for the nearest weapon he could grab for, maybe take a few of them with him. His world narrowing to the cold, grey steel of a gun barrel. 

They say a dying man’s life flashes before his eyes, but all Vegeta saw at the end of that metallic tunnel were two sets of blue eyes. 

He remembered jolting when the first shot rang out, waiting for the pain or the nothingness. Neither came. Only more gunfire. Chaos. 

He remembered gathering his wits enough to snatch up the weapon of his fallen would-be executioner. The rest was a blur of sound and motion and blood. 

Goku’s face had been a surprise to him. Why would he jeopardize himself to rescue a traitor? Why not wait for the swat team to arrive? Just let them kill him?

That was as far as his patchy memory went. After that, there was only a sudden pain, like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He remembered a deep cold seeping into his bones, and then…nothing. 

Now there was something again. More pain, but different. He was just lucid enough to realize this was a healing pain, not a dying pain. Then another wave of fog washed over him, and the pain dissolved once again into the void. 

~ 0 ~

At first, he thought he was dreaming. 

The voice that called him from the darkness was an infinitely familiar one. It was comforting, an anchor he could cling to as he clawed his way back to the surface. 

Bulma. 

It wasn’t strange that her voice would be raised in his dreams. He dreamt of fighting with her as often as he dreamt of fucking her. Both happened with a frequency that would surprise most people. 

But the awareness that it wasn’t him she was bitching out, for once, gradually began to penetrate his medicated fog. A general awareness of her voice gave way to entire words, then entire sentences. And then her face, her hair. Her hands gesturing wildly. That smooth, fair skin. 

His eyelids felt heavy, like they were filled with sand, but he fought the urge to let them slip shut. She was so beautiful like this: his warrior queen. 

“Listen here, pal. I don’t give two shits about visiting hours. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving him, and if you try to throw me out, I’ll end up owning this hospital before the end of the week. Got it?”

Vegeta wanted her to turn, to look at him. He wanted to pull her close and hold her in his arms. This woman was his rock, his world. He needed her. 

“B-bul-ma.”

His throat felt dry and achy. Hardly any sound escaped save for a raspy cough. 

Wether she heard his feeble attempts at speech or sensed his need for her, Vegeta couldn’t tell. But her eyes were turned towards him now, and all he saw was blue. 

“Vegeta? Oh my god, Vegeta! You’re awake.”

Her hands enveloped one of his. He wished he could squeeze them, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength. 

Suddenly, his small hospital room became a flurry of activity. Doctors and nurses fussed over him, asking him inane questions like ‘can you tell me your name’ and ‘do you know where you are?’ 

He wanted to ignore them, but Bulma’s smile faded into a concerned frown when he failed to respond. Clearing his sandpapery throat, he rasped his answers. 

The effort proved worth it when Bulma rewarded him with a beautiful smile and a press of her lips to the backs of his knuckles. If only the room’s other inhabitants would leave them in peace. 

Soon enough, he got his wish, but his eyelids had begun to grow heavy again. Bulma seated herself in an armchair pulled up next to his bed, her hands still cradling his. 

There was so much they needed to talk about, so much he needed to apologize for. He didn’t know how much time he had. Sooner or later, they would come for him. He was surprised he wasn’t being kept under armed guard already. This might be his only chance. 

“B-Bul-ma…”

She shushed him gently. “Just listen for a second.”

He obeyed, and she smiled, pressing the back of his captive hand against her cheek. 

“I love you too.” Her eyes grew wet, but her voice was firm. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

_“I lo-love y-ou. S’much.”_

The tears she had been holding at bay spilled over. 

“We’ve been two stubborn idiots, haven’t we?” She laughed, and Vegeta wished he could too. But the heaviness was calling him again. 

“It’s okay. You can sleep.” Her fingers threaded into his hair, lightly rubbing his scalp. “I’ll be right here.”

Lulled by her words and her comforting touch, Vegeta closed his heavy eyes and let the darkness take him. 

~ 0 ~ 

When next he woke, it was to a familiar face, but not Bulma’s. 

Goku was seated beside his bed in a wheelchair. He was in a hospital gown, and Vegeta could see the corner of a white bandage beneath the collar. 

“Have you…” He stopped to clear his throat. “Have you come to arrest me?”  
Goku’s dark brows drew together as he looked down at the blanket between them. Vegeta could see that he was fighting some internal battle with himself. Appearing to reach a resolution, he looked up, his usually laughing brown eyes holding Vegeta’s gaze. 

“I’ve decided not to turn you in.”

“Wha-what?” Vegeta rasped. 

“Far as I can tell, I’m the only one who knows about…who you were working for.”

Vegeta swallowed heavily as he tried to process what the man before he was saying. Was this another fever dream? Surely it must be. Mercy wasn’t something he deserved, in this life or the next. 

“But…why?”

“I know you’re a good person, Vegeta,” Goku explained. “Sometimes, even good people do bad things when they’re cornered. I know they threatened Bulma and Trunks.”

Vegeta felt himself pale at the mere mention of the threat to his family. 

“I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing, if it had been Chichi and Gohan. You deserve a second chance: a chance to do things right.”

Vegeta shifted, wincing at the soreness in his right side. “Goku…”

“But you have to promise me you’ll never go back to any of that,” Goku continued. “I’ll be watching, and I’ll find a way to stop you if you do. And I think you need to be honest with Bulma…about everything.”

Vegeta nodded. He had been thinking along those same lines himself. Bulma deserved the whole truth, though he knew that there was a strong possibility that, once she knew, she would hate him. 

“And of course you can never practice law enforcement again.” Goku’s voice pulled him from his grim thoughts. “You’ll be out on medical leave for a while anyway. Nobody will question why, after…” 

He knew that Goku was right. There were things about his job that he would miss, but he had Trunks to consider. 

His pride raged inside him, desperate to revolt. There would never come a day when the knowledge that he was living his life at the mercy of his long-time rival wouldn’t smart. But he was being offered a second chance, and for the sake of his son, he knew he had to embrace it. 

“Very well,” Vegeta conceded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more to go! 
> 
> Also, I have an ongoing Vegebul college AU told through text messages that’s on twitter. If you like to find me @1Vulgar that would be cool. 😎


	9. Was any of it real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the epilogue. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, or commented. I haven’t done the best job at replying to everyone, but you should all know your support means the world to me. Thank you! 😘😘😘

Bulma said goodbye to the home health nurse after handing over her final check. She watched as the elevator doors closed behind the woman before releasing a heavy sigh. 

To stall for time, she poured herself a glass of water, sipping its contents slowly. Vegeta had been acting strangely since the shooting, which, considering he had literally died and come back to life, shouldn’t be surprising. She knew this, but his coldness and persistent silence still stung. 

After that one blissful moment when they had confessed their feelings to each other, he had hardly spoken a word to her. Bulma wasn’t sure what she had expected. Vegeta would never be one for repeated declarations of devotion, no matter how much things changed. Still, she had expected some kind of acknowledgment that things were different. That they were now more to each other than exes who shared a child. 

Bulma put her empty glass in the dishwasher, casting her eyes around for another way to stall and finding none. Everything was clean and tidy. She had already ensured that the refrigerator was stocked with prepared meals and that the last of his medications were set out and labeled. He was mobile enough now that he didn’t need anyone’s help, a fact that she was certain he was quietly rejoicing over because it meant she would finally leave him alone. The knowledge stung. 

Plastering on an impassive expression, she slung her purse over her shoulder and made her way toward the bedroom, expecting to find him seated on the bed with his face buried behind the sports pages or one of his many Western novels. She was so stunned she nearly cried out when he met her in the doorway. 

His eyes flitted to the bag on her shoulder. “You’re leaving?” he asked. 

Bulma nodded. “Yes. Unless you need something…”

“No.” Vegeta shook his head. His eyes met hers, then danced away. He worried his lower lip between his teeth, and Bulma could just make out the telltale darkening of his cheeks in the dim light. 

Something was on his mind. Something he was hesitant to say aloud. 

Vegeta glanced her way again, and she was struck with the urge to throw her arms around him. He looked so lost. 

“What is it?” she asked, taking a step closer. 

“Is the boy with your parents?” 

Bulma’s brows rose. “Of course.”

Vegeta nodded, still looking anywhere but her eyes. “We should speak.”

“Oh, really?” Bulma crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve barely said two words to me since you left the hospital. Maybe I don’t feel like talking to you now.” 

“If that’s how you want to be, then fine.” 

Vegeta turned and stomped back into his room, and Bulma followed. He seemed a little too keen to drop the discussion he had tried to initiate. Now, she was intrigued. 

“Oh, no. You do not get to walk away from me, mister. Now, spit it out.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Vegeta raked his fingers through his hair. Bulma had expected more of a fight, so she was concerned when he visibly deflated. 

“You should sit down.” He gestured toward the bed. 

Worry blossomed inside Bulma’s chest as she tossed her purse onto the bed: the same bed where they had slept as husband and wife all those long months ago. She noticed that the side that had been hers was smooth and untouched, whereas his side was slightly rumpled. It was almost like he had been waiting for her to come back and claim her place beside him again. 

Bulma wanted that. She wanted it more than anything. 

It had just occurred to her that she had been staring at the empty bed for too long when she felt the warmth of Vegeta’s body against her back. His five-o’clock shadow felt coarse and masculine as he pressed his lips to her neck, making her gasp. Rough palms slid up her thighs beneath her skirt, rucking it up around her hips. 

“What are you doing?” she gasped, though she was far from fighting him. It felt like forever since he’d touched her in any way, much less like this.

“What does it feel like?” His voice was low and raspy against her ear. He dragged his teeth along the delicate shell as his fingers teased her over the thin silk of her panties. 

“Like not talking.”

It almost killed her to do it, but Bulma forced herself to push his hand away. She knew Vegeta too well. He had often tried to seduce her to avoid talking about things that made him uncomfortable. The more things changed between them, the more they stayed the same. 

Vegeta groaned behind her but didn’t press any further. He nuzzled against the side of her neck as she tugged her skirt back down, taking deep breaths like he was trying to memorize the smell of her perfume. 

His arms wound around her middle, squeezing for a few moments before letting her go. Bulma felt the warmth of his body retreat and turned to see him standing at the window, looking out over the moonlit city. 

Tears clouded her vision. She seated herself on the edge of the bed before her legs could give out. 

He hadn’t spoken a word yet, but his posture and the desperation of his touch told her enough. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

“Vegeta?” 

“I’m not a good man, Bulma.”

The conviction with which he spoke the words took Bulma aback. She gaped up at him, studying his sullen expression in profile against the darkened cityscape. 

“Don’t say that. You’re a hero. You...”

“I’ve never deserved someone like you,” he interrupted, glancing briefly in her direction before returning his gaze to the window. “I should have left you alone the first night we met, but I...I wanted you. And I’m selfish.”

“I wanted you too.”

The side of Vegeta’s mouth twitched in a sad approximation of a smile. “I know. It felt... nice.”

“I still want you, Vegeta. I don’t understand why you’re talking like this.” 

“I was one of _them_.” He turned to face her then, finally determined to face his fate like the brave man she had always known. “At the raid...I wasn’t there in any official capacity.”

Bulma opened and closed her mouth several times, her brain scrambling to process his words. It couldn’t be…

He couldn’t mean he…

And yet, it made sense, somehow. Reality began to set in like a puzzle piece snapping into place, making so many other unsolved mysteries suddenly make sense. 

“That night, when you snuck in,” she spoke around the lump forming in her throat, “you were afraid. You knew. You…”

“I didn’t know about the raid. Son had been tracking my... dealings with the Majin for some time. He had placed a tracker on my vehicle.”

“Vegeta.” She reached out, grasping his hand between both of hers. “You have to tell me everything.”

He looked down at their joined hands with an expression unlike any she had seen him wear before. Helpless, almost despairing. It broke her heart.

“When I tell you,” he spoke softly, “you’ll never look at me that way again.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back, surprised by the conviction in her voice. “Tell me.”

Vegeta took a deep breath and began. 

~ 0 ~ 

A lone raindrop splashed against the window. In the heavy silence, it might as well have been thunderclap. 

The rain was pattering steadily against the glass by the time Bulma spoke. 

“All this time…” 

She kept her eyes trained on the gathering storm outside, rather than letting them stray toward the man sitting quietly beside her. 

“All this time, I thought you didn’t want me.”

She felt Vegeta shift beside her, heard him exhale. 

“All this time, you...you didn’t trust me.” Her voice rose in volume with every syllable she spoke. “You put me and our son in danger, and you didn’t even respect me enough to tell me.”

“Bulma, I…”

“Was any of it real? Anything we shared?”

“Yes,” he implored, shifting closer to her on the bed. “I became involved with the Majin for selfish reasons, but everything I’ve done since the day I left was to protect you and Trunks.”

“By lying to me?”

“I couldn’t let them hurt you. It would...I would die first.”

Bulma turned to meet his gaze then, finding nothing but the most heart-rending sincerity in his tone and expression. He had suffered, that much was clear. It might be of his own making, but it still broke her heart. 

She startled a little when his hand closed over hers on the bedspread between them. It felt warm, rough, and achingly familiar. Like him. 

“I never thought I, of all people, would have a family. But now, being with you and Trunks...It’s all I want, however little I might deserve it.”

Bulma swallowed back a sob. Turning to face him fully, she placed her free hand over his. His eyes searched her face, imploring and cautiously hopeful. 

She sighed. “I may not be such a good person either.”

Vegeta frowned down at her, turning his hand over to encompass both of hers. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s just that...You did so many terrible things, but I still love you as much as I always did. And if that makes me wrong, I don’t give a flying—“

Her words were cut off by the warm slant of his mouth over hers. 

Bulma allowed herself to return his fervor for only a moment before pulling away just enough to speak. “And if you ever keep anything from me again, the only safely you’ll have to worry about is yours from me.”

Vegeta chuckled, a rare happy sound that Bulma found irresistibly contagious. “Stop it,” she gasped out between giggles. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are, woman.” He smiled down at her, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. 

His grin turned lascivious, and, so suddenly it made her squeal, he tossed her back onto the bed. She bounced once, giggling as he crawled over her. 

Their mirth soon transformed into something more urgent. His lips crashed down over hers as their hands worked in tandem to pull her skirt up and panties down. She kicked her pumps off, letting them clatter to the floor. 

Vegeta reached back to tug his t-shirt off, and Bulma was distracted by the sight of the red, puckered scar over his heart. It seemed so small for something so life changing. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

Vegeta shook his head. “Not all the time.”

Bulma grunted but accepted his answer. Lifting her head, she placed a gentle kiss near the raised skin. “Let me know if we need to stop.” 

She reached between them to cup him over his shorts. Vegeta groaned, resting his forehead against hers. 

His shorts were quickly shoved aside, and she guided him towards her entrance. 

Her body wasn’t as prepared as it might have been were they not in such a hurry, but for once, she welcomed the burn. He moved slowly at first, waiting for her to adjust before quickening the pace. 

It wasn’t long before they lay side by side in a tangle of quivering limbs, happy and sated. 

“Will you move back into the house now?” Bulma asked, threading her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Or should Trunks and I move in here?”

Vegeta shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Bulma knew him well enough to read the ‘I don’t care, as long as we’re together’ between the lines. 

“So, what do you plan to do now that going back to the force isn’t an option?”

“Not sure,” he answered, lazily stroking her hip. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Bulma cuddled against him, letting her eyes drift closed. 

Seconds later, they popped open again, this time gleaming with mischief and joy. 

“Actually,” she replied, giving him a conspiratorial grin, “I think I might have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter @1Vulgar.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, friends! Thank you so very, very much to everyone who has supported this little story. I haven’t been the best at replying to comments lately, but I want you to know that I cherish each and every one.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind her, Bulma stepped out of her pumps with a little sigh of relief. She punched in the code for the penthouse before reaching down to pick up her discarded shoes. It had been a long day at the office, but she was looking forward to what she had to come home to. 

Once inside her stately home, she tossed her heels into the corner of the entryway. She fully expected to get an exasperated look from her husband for it later, but he wasn’t the one who’d been on his feet all day leading back to back meetings. In fact, judging by the soft, steady snores she could hear from the direction of the den, he wasn’t standing at all. 

She set down her handbag and keys before padding carefully in the direction of the sound. A fond smile tugged at her lips at the sight that greeted her.

Vegeta was sprawled on his back on the sofa, jaw slackened and snoring in a way he only did when he was truly exhausted — which it was very possible he was. 

Bulla was equally deep in repose, her sweet little bow mouth pursed and both tiny fists curled around the fabric of Vegeta’s t-shirt. One of his hands rested protectively on her back, keeping her in place cradled against his chest. 

Bulma tore her gaze from the tender scene to glance down at her watch. She hated to disturb them, but it was less than five minutes from Bulla’s next feeding time. It was so much easier to keep this baby on a strict schedule with one of them parenting full time. 

She knew better than to startle Vegeta while he was sleeping, so she cleared her throat softly, hoping not to wake Bulla just yet. 

His eyes snapped open, flitting to her face, then down to their daughter before returning to her. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. 

“What time is it?” he rasped. 

“Time for her six-o’clock feeding. Where’s Trunks?”

“In his room,” Vegeta whispered. “He’s supposed to be doing his homework.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. Trunks had just started first grade, and the concept of homework was still a foreign one to him. “I’ll go check on him.”

Bulma tiptoed down the hall and cracked open the door to Trunks’ room. Sure enough, the boy was hunched over his new tablet instead of the sheet of beginners’ penmanship exercises in front of him. 

Once she’d established that Trunks had already finished his homework (the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree with that one) and secured his promise to bring it to his father to check after dinner, she returned to the den, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. 

Vegeta had carefully maneuvered into a seated position with Bulla tucked into the crook of his arm. He waited for Bulma to settle in beside him before shifting the waking infant into her arms. 

Bulma loved this time of day. She could finally sink into the softness of the sofa and enjoy some time with her baby. Once Bulla had latched, Vegeta would lean in for a kiss, then he would linger at her side for a few minutes, discussing their days, before sauntering to the kitchen to get dinner started. 

Bulma gazed down into the wide blue eyes that peered up at her, stroking the wisp of blue hair atop their daughter’s head. 

She had almost been surprised when Vegeta had agreed to be a stay-at-home dad, but in hindsight, she realized she shouldn’t have been. He had been willing to die for his family; it seemed only natural that he would live for them too. 

The warm, fragrant notes of garlic and browned butter floated in from the kitchen, making her mouth water and her lips curl up in a contented smile. 

Her husband, it seemed, made a damn fine housewife. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late that night....
> 
> Goku: The first rule of Fight Club is, you never talk about Fight Club...
> 
> Vegeta: *raises hand* 
> 
> Goku: Yes, Vegeta?
> 
> Vegeta: I have to tell my wife. 
> 
> Goku: 
> 
> Goku: Vegeta can tell his wife. 
> 
> Aaaaaaand...That’s all, folks. Let’s hang out on Twitter: @1vulgar.


End file.
